


Towerfall

by beantiger



Category: Hololive, HololiveEN, Virtual Streamer Animated Characters
Genre: Calli is an extraordinarily patient death-god, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, F/F, Flash Fic, Fluff, Hangover, Kiara is an extraordinarily patient birb, Kissing, Present Tense, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Sweet, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beantiger/pseuds/beantiger
Summary: Millennia later, too, Calliope kisses a phoenix on her bathroom floor. That, homie, is its own kind of destruction.(Our buddy Calliope kisses a birb and thinks about transformation and towers and whatever.)
Relationships: Mori Calliope/Takanashi Kiara
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	Towerfall

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all remember in ["Like Kusotori Herself"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29690577/chapters/73009296) when I was like "oh they was smoochin" or whatever but didn't provide any kind of description? I decided to expand on that.
> 
>  **MY TWITTER:** [@kfpskrellington](https://twitter.com/kfpskrellington) (mostly HololiveEN/Takamori)

When the Tower of Babel fell, it was Calliope Mori—then a nameless, featureless force of nature—who collected its spirit. (A reaper gathers both the souls of the living and of places the living grant unimaginable importance.) Millennia later, she still recalls trudging among the crumbling, dissonant ruins. She still feels the tower’s writhing ghost in her hands. She has watched many such monuments die, all across the multiverse.

Destruction is a constant anywhere you go, dawg.

***

Millennia later, too, Calliope kisses a phoenix on her bathroom floor. That, homie, is its own kind of destruction.

Never once did she think she would _shack up,_ as the mortals would say. Find a mate. Fall in— _guh_ —love, or whatever this was. Love made you partial. Love gave you opinions. Death’s avatars only managed affection for reaping itself. Duty easily outguns emotion when given the chance. And Calliope is—was—so much bigger than something so weak. 

At least, Calliope assumed that reality worked that way. She assumed a lot of shit, honestly. What was love to death?

Then: the soul-mark on her palm, hot to the touch, feather-shaped. Now: kissing a phoenix on her bathroom floor. Initiating it, actually. Because she—has to? There feels like nothing more urgent in the world than finding _kusotori’s_ lips. Not even her hangover.

It doesn’t make any sense. Kiara sighs deeply into the kiss and nothing is making any sense. If Calliope had any firm opinion on the workings of the universe, it is dead and dusted.

***

Calliope hasn’t much considered those little cards that mortals call the Tarot. As far as she’s concerned, she’s the embodiment of the Tarot itself—because there’s no greater meaning to existence than its end, really. But she does know that there’s a Death card, and a Tower card. Together, they foretell a wicked and necessary transformation.

***

Suddenly, Kiara pulls back, laughing deeply.

“You _are_ aggressive! I knew it!” 

Calliope wishes the Bird would shut up for a second—literally, just _one_ second—and continue kissing her. The sound of her voice is giving the reaper a terrible headache. “Enough, enough. Don’t get it twisted.”

“I’d always hoped you’d make the first move, Calli.”

“What. On my bathroom floor?”

“Anywhere.”

Kiara means every word she ever says. That’s the most horrible thing about her, and has been for centuries. She feels everything right there on the surface for some goddamn reason. Though—Calliope supposes—that carries with it a sort-of sincerity. Honesty. There’s no second-guessing _kusotori._ She’s not, as the mortals might say, a bullshitter. Even if every sentence arrives laced with saccharine idealism. 

It’s solid. It’s reliable. It’s Takanashi Kiara. Calliope decides to put her faith in it.

Their second kiss lasts longer, and their hands wander—in a surprisingly chaste way. While Calliope runs her fingernails over _kusotori’s_ shoulderblades, Kiara cups her cheeks, her thumbs stroking the soft skin under Calliope’s eyes. The mark on Calliope’s palm throbs gently like a tide lapping at seaside cliffs. 

She senses, finally, Kiara’s hands encompassing her own. Their fingers intertwine.

***

As a reaper, you didn’t stick around long enough to see the mortals plodding through the detritus of their fallen towers. You collected your bounty and you left with your people-souls and your place-souls, and that was that. There was no compassion: there was only you.

Long after she goes on her rapping hiatus, Calliope wishes, vaguely, that she had observed these humans more closely. She never learned how they rebuilt after something so solid had crumbled. How they found their footing again. Or their confidence in the world and its unending cycles. 

It's some crazy shit.

***

“I’m astonished,” Calliope says, finally, “that you’re not trying to get me into bed or something.”

Kiara blushes and flashes her a full-faced smile, her eyes half-closed and twinkling. “Plenty of time for that later!”

“You might be waiting a couple dozen centuries, my dude. This is doing me in, I’ll tell you what.”

To her credit, the Bird doesn’t pout or complain, as Calliope expects. Nor does she try to wheedle Calliope into it, or rationalize the idea to her. Kiara only pecks her on the cheek.

Impressive.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” Kiara says.

“You do that. And water, please. I’m just going to stay here on the nice, cold, solid tile...”

“Can I call you _wife_ now?”

 _Maybe one day,_ Calliope thinks. That she simply accepts the idea surprises her, but then, what the f-word hasn’t been _surprising_ about the last few hours? 

Some things wouldn’t change, she decides. Some things would. Somehow it all seems like part of plan bigger than she or _kusotori_ both. But she has time to figure it out, doesn’t she? And she’ll have help, too. There are few things in the universe better at renewal than a phoenix. No other creature could survive a falling tower and rise up again.

**Author's Note:**

> My master's in poetry at work, everybody.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. I sure do love you all.
> 
> Something less esoteric coming this weekend, probably.


End file.
